


Mollis

by LouPF



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Blood Magic, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Magic, Nature Magic, Oneshot, SO, Temporary Character Death, milder than actually, this isn't actually c137cest but it was written with that in mind and there's a MILD mention of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouPF/pseuds/LouPF
Summary: Morty is a peaceful spirit.At least he thinks so - until Rick dies.**Mollis; soft, tender, delicate.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	Mollis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Undead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12589192) by [VoidSpace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidSpace/pseuds/VoidSpace). 



Morty is a peaceful spirit. He comes from the earth and the life that blooms between atoms, the result of mishaps during Beth's pregnancy and side effects of Rick's science.

He's barely fourteen when it first starts, the humming in his veins - a resonance in all around him. He stands in the mirror and stares at his eyes, usually dull brown but now a mellow yellow - bronze at the darkest, honey at the brightest. Holding his breath, he leans in close, nose a millimetre from the glass. His pupils are round and full and warm in a way humans' aren't supposed to be.

Later, they revert to their calm brown, but the honey-golden hue returns whenever he calls upon himself.

Over time, he learns to dance in tune with it - learns to coax his heart into singing the melody of the trees and the bees and the stars. It doesn't cross his mind to tell anyone - he feels at ease, so utterly comfortable in his own hide. Flowers bloom in his footsteps, and the birds sing when he nears, and his skin is flush and clear.

He learns to manipulate the strings that hold it all together, prompting brittle vines to grow large and robust and flowers to bloom in his palms. There's no need to ask Rick for information about plants they find on adventures anymore, for he knows them on instinct. Whenever they must be harvested, Morsty whispers gently to them and does it as it should be done, carefully letting the ones coming after grow healthy. 

Rick rolls his eyes and scoffs and huffs but goes quiet when Morty's harvest is bountiful and fresh, while his withers faster than usual.

Morty doesn't stop to ponder over who he is - over  _ what  _ he is - only settles comfortably into the label 'peaceful spirit,' for he  _ feels  _ peaceful. He feels kind. He feels forgiving and understanding and calm.

When Rick goes off on rants, Morty no longer lets it affect him. He only nods, doesn't think about it too much, and moves on. He's a new Morty.

It's baffling to Rick. It's baffling to his family. It's baffling to his classmates.

And maybe Morty weaves tiny little flowers into a crown to put upon Jessica's head (a thank-you for fond memories; he no longers looks to her with longing). And maybe Morty brings Summer into the garden to braid startlingly bright forget-me-not's into her hair. And maybe Morty procures the prettiest, most beautiful flowers for Beth's birthday. So what? He's a peaceful spirit.

Well.

He's a peaceful spirit until Rick dies.

It's short, violent, bloody - not amid a battle, but rather at the hands of a wild beast. Morty's affinity for plants isn't as strong with creatures, but after the initial fright, he manages to send it away nonetheless. He's relieved - and then he turns to Rick, finding him wrecked, mangled, and still.

Morty's heart stops beating.

Rick's torso and hips are torn apart, clothes stained deep red and organs spilling out from the largest gashes. Blood pools around him like a broken halo and his expression is frozen in pain and fear.

"Rick," Morty breathes, though he knows he will receive no response. The constant pulse of life and breath is gone, he's as sparkless as a rock. With his heart on his tongue, Morty staggers forward, falling to his knees in the pool of blood.

He stares at Rick. Dear Rick, who'd pressed his lips to Morty's and forgotten it afterwards - who'd risked his life and offered his life and thought Morty didn't know. Rick, who is everything to Morty like Morty is everything to him.

Rick.

Rick, dead.

Anger coils both cold and scorching hot in his stomach, and he grits his teeth. No.

No.

_ No. _

He calls upon himself in every sense of the word, yanking forth every inch of his strength - and he pulls in the life of the earth, dragging strings of growth and breath from everything around him. He can see himself for a split second, hunched over - snarling, eyes glowing yellow, the air burning around him. He can't care less, digging his fingers into the ground as he calls upon  _ more.  _ The trees bend to him, the birds quiet - it's as though the world holds its breath, waiting for his word - he bites his tongue, draws blood, and draws his own life, too.

Tendrils of green and red and brown - the colours of life - spring forth from him, the air, the ground, anything - they coil and curl into, around, through Rick. His blood soaks into the dirt and disappears, returns as power - his skin stitches itself, realigning and melting together seamlessly.

Morty wheezes, his chest tightening, and he can barely see for the glow of his own eyes, anger continuously burning through him. He knows he can do this - has never done it before, but  _ knows _ , knows it, has maybe always known it.

He listens to his own heartbeat - once, twice, thrice - then slams it towards Rick with all the force he can muster, duplicating it, splitting it, jamming it in-between Rick's ribs.

Morty watches, heaving for breath, tense as a coil - 

And Rick's heart shudders to life.

The energy drains out of Morty nearly instantly, and he draws a shaky breath. His hair, which had been raised in static, sinks back down against his neck.

The glow fades, somewhat, from his eyes.

When Rick wakes, there is death in all around them. The patch they sit on is dry and hard, the trees nearby already decaying. It's a visible bubble of Morty's destruction.

Rick coughs, rubbing a hand over his throat as he sits up. He looks to Morty, clearly confused. "Wh... what h - happened?"

Morty tilts his head, letting his hair fall out of his eyes. He smiles, tries to make it look kind - thinks he fails. "You passed out," he says, without a single stutter or uncertainty.

"M - Morty," Rick whispers, reaching out to brush warm, warm fingers against Morty's cheek. "Y - your  _ eyes. _ "

"You passed out," Morty repeats. "Please. Rick. You passed out."

Rick pulls back, taking in their surroundings. He, too, notices the bubble of rot. "Should I - uh, do I -  _ want  _ to know?"

Morty keeps his gaze trained on Rick, insistent. "You passed out."

Calculating. Rick's eyes have always been calculating - but never as much as now. "Alright," he finally settles on. "Can - am - is home a good idea?"

"Sure," says Morty, and stands.

Morty is a peaceful spirit.

He doesn't want to think about what else he could possibly be.


End file.
